A Woman's Nails (30 page)

“I know.”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“What’
s the
deal with the Seventh of July?”

“It’
s
Tanabata
,” she answers. “The Star Festival.”

“Let’
s pretend for a moment, shal
l we, that I’
m not some stupid
gaijin
fresh off the boat. I know it’
s
Tanabata
. What I want to know is, does the day have anything to do with dating? I me
an, is it unlucky or something?”

“
No, no. Quite the oppos
ite,”
she says, then indulges my curiosity by telling me the l
egend of Orihime and Hikoboshi.

2

According to legend, the sky god Tenkô was concerned that his daughter Orihime was wasting her youth away. The poor girl did nothing but weave cloth day in, day out and it was high time the girl got out and had some fun. Tenkô knew of a humorless lad across the Amanogawa (lit. “Heaven’s River”, Milky Way), a workaholic cowherd by trade named Hikoboshi who was also in dire
need of a life, and set the two of them
up.

Orihime and Hikoboshi were a match made in heaven, literally. The two fell so madly in love with one another that before long they were unbearable to be arou
nd: Orihime with her incessant “
Hik
oboshi this, and Hikoboshi that”
and Hikoboshi strutting ar
ound as if he suddenly were god’
s gift to women. It was enough to make the heavenly bodies want to barf. To make matters worse, the star-crossed lovers began neglecti
ng their chores: Orihime couldn’
t be bothered to weave anymore; Hikoboshi, let the cows roam free.

With the cattle succ
umbing to disease, and the gods’
kimono
getting shab
bier and shabbier, Tenkô had had enough
. In a fit of rage, he forbade his daughter from ever seeing Hikoboshi again and banished the good-for-nothing cowherd back across the Amanogawa.

Tenkô thought that would put and end to things, but his daughter, Orihime, was inconsolable now that Hikoboshi was o
ut of her life. The girl wouldn’t speak to her father, wouldn’
t
eat, and she definitely wouldn’
t weave even though the g
ods’
clothes
were worn to rags by now. Tenkô’
s own
kimono
was in suc
h sad shape, you could see his A
lmighty arse through a rip in the back
side
.

Tenkô tried reasoning with his daughter, but to no avail. He pleaded
and begged. When that didn’
t work
, either
, he had little choice
but to admit
defeat. He gave into his daughter’s desire to see the cowherd
. There was, however,
one condition: he would
only
permit Orihime to meet Hikoboshi every year on the seventh of July if the star-crossed lovers
were attentive to their duties.

3

“
So what does
that
have to do with anything?”
I ask.

“Some people find it romantic.”

“Romantic? What’
s romantic about having onl
y one day off from work a year?”

“It’
s romantic because t
he two lovers are able to meet.”

I can’
t quite appreciate the romanticism in the legend. If anything, I find the
whole story dubious and wouldn’
t be surprised if Hikoboshi took to sc
htupping the occasional heifer.

“The reason I ask is that
I thought
Tanabata
was just about writing your wish down on colored paper and
hanging
it on a bamboo branch.”

“
Well, yes, that i
s part of the tradition, but it’
s al
so a popular evening for dates.”

“I suspected as much.”

“Oh? Did something happen?”

“
There's this girl. Girl? What
am I saying, she's thirty . . .”

“
So there
is
someone.”

“
No, no
, no, no, no. Shinobu, it’
s no
t like that at all. Tatami, she’
s just . . .
”

“Tatami? Odd name.”

“
An appropri
ately odd name for an odd girl.”

The waitress comes with Shinobu's
“
lady's
setto
”
and my Caesar
sarada
. The girl serving us is a real doll. She asks
if we need anything else and I’
m thinking yes, your name and number and that charming smile of yours in my life.

“So?”
Shinobu
presses me
.

“Huh?”

“Tatami?”

“
Ah, right! Boy, where to begin? All I wanted w
as to be friends with the girl.”
I say as I attempt to relate to Shinobu the exacerbating tale of a relationship sown in the fe
rtile soil of misunderstanding.

“It’
s not always easy f
or men and women to be friends,” Shinobu cautions. “It’
s especially difficult for someone like your Tatami. I mean, i
f she’
s from
as good a family as you say, it’
s impos
sible. People would think . . .
”

“Shinobu, I don’t care what people think.”

“
I know
you
don’
t, but Japanese do. Anyone who sees the two of you tog
ether will naturally assume you’
re a couple. And, anyone who knows anything about her family is going to conclud
e that you intend to marry her.”

“Perish the thought,”
I say, but what Sh
inobu is telling me makes sense. It
explains why Tatami always frets and worries.

“Tell me. You honestly aren’t attracted to her?”

“Not at all.”

“No?”

“No. I mean, it’s not as if she's a dog.”

“A dog?”

“
Ugly
.
”

“Heh? But, dogs are so cute.”

“Whatever. Like I said, it’s not as if Tatami’s hideous or anything
. I
mean, she can be quite charming
. Cute in h
er own way. And funny. But, she’
s not quite my cup of tea and, well, it neve
r even occurred to me to . . .”

“Never?”

“
C'mon, Shinobu. I thin
k you know me better than that.”

“
I suppose I do. So, what gave
her the impression that . . .”

“I don’t know!”

“You wrote her a letter, right?”

“
R
ight.”

“And?”

“And, nothing.”

“What did you write?”

“
Beats me. It was well over a month ago. But
, you can be damned sure I didn’t tell her I loved her.”

“Did you tell her you liked her?”

“In the letter?”

“Yes, in the letter.”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“
Maybe?
”

“
Yeah, m
aybe, indirectly. But, so what?”

“Well, there you go, Peador.”

“
There I go what? I like this Caesar salad, but good as it is, I
’m
not gonna
exchange wedding vows with it.”

“
Peador. Y
ou write a letter to a girl you’
ve only just met. You tell her you
like her. What do you expect?”

“That this isn’
t junior high school. That I can tell a woman I find her interesting and want to become friends and
it not being big deal is what.”

“
Have you considered that Tatami
may never have had a boyfriend?”

“She’
s thir
ty years old, for chrissakes.”

“She’
s an
o-jô-san
, Peador. For all you
know, she might still be . . .”
She looks around th
e restaurant to check if anyone is listening, then whispers: “She might still be a virgin.”

“
A virgin
?!?!”

Now, everyone definitely
is
listening.

“Yes, a virgin, Peador,”
Shinobu says in a hushed voice.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’
m utterly speechless. I open my bag, pull my day planner out and check the year embossed on the cover.
Just as I suspected, 1993
. I spin my day planner around to show Shinobu.

“
It could be 2013, Peador, but a family like her
s would still be old fashioned.”

“Good God, where’
s the fun in that? You know, when I heard her father was a universi
ty professor, I just assumed he’
d be this laid-back hippy. A jungle of Ma
ui-wowie growing in the garden.”

“Which university?”

“Kyûdai.”

“That explains it then.”

“How do you figure?”

“
Well, first of all,
Kyûshû-danji
. . .
”

“Sorry?”

“
A man from Kyûshû.”

“
Ooh, new word! Let me write that down.
Kyûshû dango
?”

“
No!
Not
dango
.
. .!”

“I know, I know. I'm joking.”
Dango
means “dumpling”. “
Kyûshû-danji
.”

“
Kyûshû-danji
are notoriously conservative. But, rich a
nd a Kyûdai professor, to boot?”

“
To boot? You picked
that up in England, didn't you?”
She flashes me a self-satisfied smile
. “
Well, I guess that makes sense in a
nonsensical
sort of way. I’m telling you, this Tatami’
s a real piece of work. I mean, she just
flipped out
when I told h
er I wanted to meet her father.”

“
You what
?”

“
I told Tata
mi I wanted to meet her father.”

“
Baka
!
You know, you’
re an intelligent man, Peador, but sometimes, sometimes yo
u can be really, really stupid.”

“W-w-what?”

“One, you don’t tell a girl you’re dating . . .”

“We aren’t dating.”

“Whatever. You don’
t tell a girl that you want to meet her father. Th
at, that’
s practically the same thing as proposing to her.
Bakamé
!”

Good Lord
.

“
Why, Peador? Why on eart
h would you ever tell her that?”

I’
ve always harbored the suspicion that coming to Japan was a mistake. But, desperation rising from a dearth of viable options, coupled with morbid curiosity, silenced the doubts long enough for me to jump on board without considering where the train would take me. And, once in Japan, despite the frustrations and the alarming conviction that my life was now way off track, inertia alone kept me barreling ahead on a collision course with Mie who would eventually derail me. Why did I tell Tatami I wanted to meet her father?
“
He's a pro
fessor of architecture is why.”

“Oh,”
she says
,
confron
ting the method to my madness. “
You ha
ven’t given up, have you?”